


Ben's Fast

by Raccoonfg



Series: Four Nights of Frights [3]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Horror, Potions, weight loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raccoonfg/pseuds/Raccoonfg
Summary: Benjamin Clawhauser would do anything to lose weight, but sometimes cutting corners comes at a cost.





	Ben's Fast

“Now let’s see here…”

Standing in the middle of Sahara Square’s underground bazaar, Clawhauser glanced down at a tiny, rabbit-sized note pinched between his chubby digits.

It was nice of Judy that she had written out the stall number for him; given that the bazaar’s low ceilings and transient nature meant that none of the stalls had any sort of sign or marker beyond their numbered designation.

But to be honest, her handwriting was a little bit too small for a cheetah his size.

“Fourteen… Or nineteen...?”

While squinting, he pulled the piece of paper back and forth in front of his face, straining it into better focus before eventually settling on the number being an odd looking fourteen.

At least, he was sure it was fourteen.

“Hmm…”

Or… Nineteen?

“Hmm~mm…”

No, he was definitely positive that it was fourteen. He could tell by the little pointy bit that was sticking out the back of the number. It was just that Judy’s handwriting was always so cute and curly, so the front part looked more rounded than how most mammals wrote a four.

“Yeah, fourteen. Definitely fourteen.”

Nodding to himself, Ben stuffed the note into his shirt pocket and continued wandering down the crowded alley of noisy shoppers and barking merchants.

He had never been down here before. Most of his experience with big markets had been the odd charity bake sale that took place in Savanna Central or the one time that Bogo had taken him to the downtown weekend farmers’ market and helped him pick out a large assortment of healthy food for his ongoing dieting attempts.

…Of which he had let sit around his apartment until the lot of it had gone mushy and rotten while he enjoyed a two week long baker’s dozen promotion at The Big Donut.

And it was because of this that he had now found himself struggling to inch between all sorts of little hunch-backed grannies while they milled around with their overstuffed tote bags.

Knowing how the chief had been so helpful and patient with him this whole time, Clawhauser’s conscience was actually weighed down by the fact that he had backslid this easily. So much so, that even Officer Wilde had remarked that Ben’s Instalamb posts were starting to bum him out.

_“Sorry, pal. Sad cats and selfies just don’t mix.”_

All he wanted to do was make a little bit of progress. Something to show the chief and make him proud. Nothing crazy, just a few pounds.

And that’s where Officer Hopps came in.

She told him that one of the things she added to her workout routine, back when she joined the academy, was a daily use of natural supplements that helped her keep healthy and active enough to properly maintain her body during the gruelling training.

_“They even make organic protein shake mixes, chock full of essential vitamins and nutrients. Drink one each morning and I’ll guarantee you won’t be craving donuts for the rest of the day.”_

Clawhauser, however, was a bit reluctant about the suggestion. Aside from the grocery debacle, he had tagged along with Bogo on other shopping trips, including stops at the mall’s nutrition store. He had seen how much the chief paid for his monthly supply of weight-gain powder - a product that struck Clawhauser as extremely unfair - and that stuff cost a fortune.

_“No worries. I used to pay an arm and a leg too, but Nick actually tipped me on this small wholesaler a while back and their prices are terrific. Here, I’ll write it down for you…”_

Looking again at the note, Clawhauser scratched his head and double-checked the numbered marker on the curtained stall in front of him. They both said fourteen alright. But the exotically patterned drapery that concealed the shop within didn’t come across as the sort of thing you’d associate with vitamins and supplements. It was more like a foreign rug merchant’s kind of décor.

Nonetheless, Judy had never set him wrong before.

When he stepped inside the shop, his nose was immediately hit with an overwhelming odor of incenses and perfumes, like an aromatic potluck of patchouli, lavender, and about a dozen other smells he couldn’t place. The walls and table surfaces were all covered with flamboyantly colored cloths that bore similar printed designs to the entrance, creating a disorienting interior that made it hard to fully gauge the room’s size. And stacked on top of each and every one of these tables, along with the shelves that hung above them, were various glass jars and clay pots arranged in seemingly random groupings; far from the meticulously organized stacks of sterile plastic containers he was used to seeing on display at the mall.

From beyond what he could only assume was the cashier’s counter - due to the old brass cash register that sat among the bits and bobs - he heard a soft jingling noise. This was shortly followed by the figure of a lithe female jackal that rose up from below the counter. Just like the rest of the shop, she didn’t fit the health store cliché; no khakis or tight fitted polo shirt, just a wispy, loosely worn dress layered in silks and jeweled baubles.

“Ahh. Greetings.” Her eyes flashed with great interest at Clawhauser as she welcomed him in a deep, velvety purr. “How may I help you, my friend?”

Taking another glance around the room, Ben awkwardly twiddled his thumbs.

“Uhm… I’m not sure if I’m in the right place.”

“Is that so?” the Jackal asked as she practically slithered around the counter and smoothly closed in on him like a curious cobra. “And what were you looking for?”

Leaning away from her sudden forwardness, Ben gave a grimaced chuckle. “A miracle, I guess…”

The jackal coiled back from him, pressing a single claw to her lips as a thin, knowing smile spread across her face.

“A miracle, you say? Well then… I would say you are in the right place.”

“R-really? You can help me lose weight?”

“Of course,” she replied with a wave of her paw, before turning on her heels to stride back to her counter; nearly smacking Clawhauser in the legs with her sweeping tail. “You doubt Romana?”

“N-no,” Ben said, shaking his head as he followed her. “I mean- We only just met, but- That is- A friend recommended you, so…”

“Ahh. I see… I see…” Romana, the jackal, had ducked back under her counter with her tail swaying just above the surface, while Ben could hear the rattling noises of her sorting through containers. “Was it a beaver who wanted true love?”

Wrong or not, it seemed like an odd detail for a vitamin salesman to remember about their customer, so Clawhauser paused in confusion before replying with another shake of his head.

“Um, no.”

“A lion who was afraid of losing his mane?”

“Uh-uh.”

“A one-eyed rabbit who wanted his bad luck to turn around?”

“No~oo…” He then added, “Well, she is a rabbit, but I’m pretty sure both her eyes are real. …Last I checked.”

Getting a little impatient with Romana’s searching, Ben tilted himself over the counter, trying to get a look at what she could possibly be sorting through for so long.

“She, uh, said I could get a good deal so--”

“My prices are fair,” Romana curtly snapped as she suddenly sprung up in front of Ben’s face, startling the cheetah. “I do not haggle.”

Clenched in her paws was a small, brown, dusty pot with a cloth lid that was tightly sealed with red twine.

“What is it?”

“Your miracle,” Romana smirked as she placed it on the counter.

Ben didn’t hesitate to pick it up for closer inspection. Some strange, foreign symbols were written on the side in delicate black paint, looking like something from out of a Pandanese comic, but Ben couldn’t make heads or tails as to what it said.

But more notably was how dinky the thing was. Judy said the place had great deals, but usually that meant things were sold in bulk packages, not single-serving, travel sizes.

“So… How many scoops do I add to milk with this?”

“Milk?” Romana snatched the pot back from his paws and shot him an offended scowl at his presumptuousness. “Do you **want** irritable bowels?”

“N-no..?”

Romana closed her eyes, huffed, and looked back up at him with the sort of stern seriousness that he only expected from the chief himself.

It actually kinda weirded him out.

“Okay,” she said in a calm, even voice, “Listen well to Romana, because I will only tell you this once. You take one teaspoon- A modest teaspoon. And you stir it into a cup of hot water.” She then warningly raised a single clawed finger at him. “Once a day. Only. Do you understand?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Good. Do this and Romana promises you that you will lose weight. Guaranteed.”

And with that, she danced her other paw across the register’s keys, ringing up the final price for him. It wasn’t exactly the deal that he expected, but for what he was getting it certainly seemed fair.

Ben eagerly fished out a few bills and handed them to her while he reached out for the weight loss powder. However, he found the sultry jackal gripping both the money and medicine, letting neither from her grasp as she narrowed her eyes at him.

**“One teaspoon a day. Only.”**

“I thought you said you’d only tell me once…”

With a roll of her eyes, she lifted her paw from the pot and tucked his payment away in the register, closing it with a clattering jingle.

“There are things you should never trifle with, Mr. Clawhauser. Even miracles take patience.”

So with an awkward goodbye, Ben tucked the pot into his fanny pack and left the stall, returning to the busy bazaar with the feeling that he had just returned from another strange world that resided behind those billowy curtains.

‘Wait a second,’ he thought, ‘How’d she know my name..?’

 

* * *

 

The first day began with a sort of apprehensive excitement as he untied the red twine from around the pot. A rich, earthy fragrance floated up from its contents when he pulled back the cloth covering, revealing a peppery red and brown powder within it.

Taking no chances on the instructions, he had his ring of measuring spoons at the ready and scooped an exact teaspoon portion of the powder; going so far as to even out the measurement with a brush of his finger.

Holding the portion up to the light, little tiny crystals twinkled in the powder, reminding him of sweet tea mix. However, he was certain this was going to taste like anything but.

After dumping the powder into his favorite commemorative Gazelle: Blow Your Horns Tour ’06 mug, he filled it up with some boiling water, gave it a stir, and let it sit a while to cool down a bit.

He wasn’t much of one for hot drinks, considering that he did have a cat’s tongue, so he had to give it a good while until it was tepid enough to pass the pinky test. But in the time he was waiting, Ben did get a good exposure to the full aroma of the stuff. Much like the powder’s initial smell suggested, it carried a very natural odor, something not too far off from the scent of the Rainforest District after a heavy shower on a humid day.

The taste, however, was something else.

“Yeugh.”

It was like drinking broth made out of pine sap and boiled tree bark. Not revolting, but definitely nothing pleasant to drink. Sufficed to say, he made sure to chug it down as quickly as possible so that he could skip right to his morning routine of Lucky Chomps cereal to wash down the birch wood aftertaste.

Aside from a little bit of a sourness in his stomach, he didn’t feel all that different. And when he returned home from work that evening he still weighed in about the same on his scale.

A bit underwhelming for day one, but she did tell him to be patient.

So on the second day, he did the same thing. Careful, precise scoop of the powder. Full cup of boiling water. Choke the whole thing down. Move on with the day.

Same weight.

Day three. Scoop. Water. Drink. Work.

Same.

Day four.

Ditto.

“Come oo~on…”

On day five, he decided to cheat - just a little.

Instead of the cautiously leveled scoops he had been doing so far, he took one heaping teaspoon and downed the hatches with a slightly more potent tasting serving, figuring there wasn’t really much it could hurt.

And by the end of the day?

Three pounds.

He had to recheck, double-check and triple-check the scale before he could accept it, but for once he saw a decrease in numbers on the little LED screen.

Romana was clear in her instructions, but obviously she wasn’t taking into account what sort of cheetah Clawhauser was.

One dinky, teensy, itty-bitty teaspoon a day to deal with a cat his size?

Not to mention, he wasn’t exactly keeping to a strict diet or exercise regimen lately. Of course if he’s scarfing donuts at work, he’s only putting back on weight that this stuff was supposed to be taking off.

It only made sense to stay ahead of the curve, right?

“Pfft,” Clawhauser chuckled to himself on day six, as he heaped two towering spoonfuls into his mug, “Obviously.”

Things really started to loosen up that day. Literally.

By the time lunch rolled around, he had already gone back two whole notches on his belt. And when the end of his shift had rolled around, all the guys in the locker room were commenting on how he was looking a little lighter around the waist today.

Sufficed to say, day seven kicked off with another double dose in his cup; plus a dash of extra for good luck. And what do you know? His subway ride came with a little less scooching than usual and his desk chair now whined a few octaves lower when he sat down.

Come the end of the day, he not only saw a drastic drop in weight on his scale, but he could also see it while still standing on the scale.

Emboldened by the prospect of finally being able to visually confirm when the claws on his feet need a trim, Ben fixed himself a celebratory cup-of-slim to toast off the evening.

Only one scoop though.

Best not to push it.

“Well… Maybe just another touch. To get me an early start for tomorrow.”

When he woke up the next morning, it was like Christmas day. Ben sprung out of bed with such excitement that he felt like he was a hundred pounds lighter and without a care in the world. He always fancied himself a great dancer, but the way he was prancing about and swishing his tail from side to side as he sashayed into the bathroom for his morning routine was far more graceful than the usual rotund wobble of his hips. It was like he was literally walking on clouds.

And then he passed the mirror of his medicine cabinet.

And he stopped.

And edged back.

And saw an old, forgotten face staring back at him.

“Oh… Em…”

His jaw hung open in an unfinished gasp and only closed when he had pressed a paw to his muzzle, confirming what he saw was really his reflection.

The bulbousness that was the bane of every doorway?

The charitable curvature that made him less of a beach bum and more of a beach ball?

The portly roundedness that once got him mistaken at a carnival for “The Bearded Hippo”?

All gone and melted away overnight.

It really was a blast from the past. He had never looked this sleek and lean since the day he graduated from the academy; some time before he fell into a donut hole of over-eating and ended getting himself permanently benched over concerns of his health.

And here he was, looking like a proper cheetah.

With jowls.

And ribs.

‘OhmygoshIcanfeelmyribsagain!’ The sheer joy of rediscovering his old body overwhelmed his mind so much that he completely forgot about the shower he was about to take. Instead, he dashed out of the bathroom and dove into his bedroom closet, where he yanked out an old, dusty suitcase.

Plopping it heavily on his bed, Ben quickly unzipped it and threw the cover off, revealing a neatly folded police uniform.

Seconds later, he had slipped it over his nimble frame and presented himself before the extra-wide mirror that stood in the corner.

There was no doubt about it. Like a glove, it fit just as perfectly as it did the first day he was on the beat.

“Well hey there, Chief,” he whistled as he playfully tipped his cap back, “Officer Benjamin Clawhauser reporting for duty.”

And then after holding his gallant pose for a few more seconds, he broke into a gleeful dance on his tippy-toes, giggling behind his paws.

Miracles do take patience.

And week’s worth paid off in full.

 

* * *

 

After taking some extra time to get himself gussied up for the day - even going as far as to break out the old whisker curler - Ben went about fixing himself a bowl of cereal and was about to shovel a great big spoonful of sugary goodness into his mouth when his empty mug caught his eye.

All wrapped up in the excitement of the day, he had almost forgotten to brew a cup of the weight loss powder.

At first, he mulled it over in his head and figured that he was already at his target weight; no harm in skipping a day.

But then he looked at the boatload of calories that floated in his bowl and he remembered how many times he ‘skipped a day’ or backslid on a diet, only to end up letting himself down.

He had finally gotten what he wanted. And what’s more, he could very well literally have his cake and eat it too, because he now had a miracle powder that undoes everything wrong with cake.

So with a resolve to never turn back, he got up, filled the cup with hot water, and started adding his modified portioning of powder.

One…

Two…

“Hmm…”

Three.

…And a half.

“Better safe than sorry.”

 

* * *

 

The walk into the precinct wasn’t as dramatic as he could have hoped for, but it wasn’t entirely disappointing either. He knew the place would be busy, so he wasn’t exactly going to be turning any heads waltzing in looking like an everyday fit cheetah.

No, it was more when he casually took his place behind the reception kiosk that he started getting confused, quizzical looks from the officers who passed him by.

“Ooo,” Ben chirped to himself, “this is gonna be great.”

Trying his best to appear as nonchalant as possible about the whole situation, he shuffled through the new memos in his inbox, occasionally glancing up to see who was coming by.

Eventually, the hulking shadow of Officer McHorn lumbered towards him, absently flipping through a case file.

“New guy, huh?” He grunted, carelessly dropping the folder on the countertop. “Is Clawhauser off sick today?”

“Oh no,” Ben replied, shaking his head with the widest grin he could share, “I’m feeling just dandy today!”

Tight-lipped, the rhino blinked at him and then slowly started to back away, before breaking into a panicked dash towards the bullpen.

Moments later, he returned with a small crowd of flabbergasted officers.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nick muttered in disbelief.

“No~pe,” Clawhauser beamed.

“No, seriously,” Nick stressed, “you have got to be kidding me. I have lost SO MANY bets right now - I’m gonna be back under the bridge!”

Scanning him over from tail to tip, Judy had the most perplexed face of them all.

“How is this even possible?”

“Just took a little bit of patience,” Ben shrugged. “And that weight loss tip you gave me.”

Judy blinked doubtingly. “A shake mix did this?”

“Well,” Clawhauser twiddled his thumbs hesitantly, “sorta…”

Nick glanced up from his open wallet and shot Ben a skeptical eye. “That… Can’t be possible. I used to work with that place. Their stuff is, like, fifty percent used classroom chalk-dust.”

Judy immediately snapped her attention to Nick. “Excuse me?!”

“Hey, even cheap comes at a cost-- Ow!”

“I’ve been putting that stuff in my banana smoothies for a year!”

Watching Judy’s sudden outburst of misplaced affection, Clawhauser started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, this whole thing wasn’t exactly on the level. After all, what he’d been drinking wasn’t a shake mix, and definitely didn’t taste like chalk.

“Hey, uh, Judy? The shop number you gave me, was it--”

“Alright everyone, enough goldbricking,” boomed the authoritative voice of Chief Bogo. “You all have a city to keep safe, so get to it.”

The whole lot of them instantly scattered off at the chief’s arrival, leaving the cheetah and cape buffalo standing alone. This was the moment that Ben had really been looking forward to since this morning. He proudly poised himself against his desk, turning his head with a smug look, showing off his good side.

Clawhauser, I’m impressed.

Clawhauser, you look great.

Clawhauser, I’m putting you on the beat immediately.

A whole world of praise and adulation floated through Ben’s mind in the pregnant pause that preceded Bogo opening his mouth.

“You know, it’s not healthy to lose that much weight so quickly.”

And he was instead left with disappointment.

“W-what..?”

“About two pounds a week, five tops,” Bogo elaborated as he looked him over. “Anything more and you’d be asking for complications. Honestly, I know you like to cut corners, but this seems a tad drastic, even for someone as impatient as you.”

“Impatient?”

Ben wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel angry or hurt at the accusation. He was impatient? He’d been trying and failing to lose weight for well over a year now; giving everything a shot. And now that he had finally found the answer, he was being ‘impatient’?

“Now I don’t know how you did it. Surgery. Caffeine pills. Whatever. But I’m advising you to stop it now before things get out of hoof--”

“Or what, you won’t be able to look down on me anymore?” Ben spat back, catching himself off-guard almost as much as it did for Bogo.

For a moment, his superior stared at him in confused silence, only getting half a second to open his mouth before Clawhauser continued his retaliation.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Ben huffed, petulantly folding his arms. “You spent all this time making me jump through hoops. And did it get me anywhere? No~o! So now that I finally make progress on my own, it’s all ‘you’re doing it wrong’!”

“Clawhauser…”

“You just want me to fail, don’t you?”

“Clawhauser.”

“Or maybe you’re just afraid to admit that you were the one failing me all along!”

“Clawhauser!”

Ending his tirade, Ben frowned at Bogo with his lips pursed in the tightest pout that he could muster, daring the chief to lash out and prove him right.

Instead, he only sighed.

“Go home, Benjamin,” he muttered, walking away. “We’re done here.”

Still riding a wave of indignation, Ben stormed out of the precinct, only pausing for a moment glare back in Bogo’s direction before marching out the door.

 

* * *

 

“Impatient… I’ll show him impatient,” Ben muttered to himself while fishing for his apartment keys in his pants pocket. With the anger still fresh in his mind, it seemed a bit harder than usual to reach them with ease.

“Just getting back from a graveyard shift?”

“Huh?” Ben turned to catch sight of a friendly looking impala who was waiting by the elevator door.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “I just assumed you were working late because you looked so tired.”

“I do?” Ben pressed his free paw to his face and felt around the hide of his jowls, finding them to be a bit looser than earlier.

“Well anyways, sorry to be a bother,” she said as the light chime of the elevator arriving rang out. “Have a good one.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. You too.”

He was still poking at his chops when the automatic doors had closed, leaving him alone in the hallway.

‘Maybe that argument wore me out more than I realized…’

With a shrug, he returned to digging his paw through his pocket, but was still having some trouble with getting his keys; even with his anger starting to subside. His old pants had fit him just fine when he left for work, but now they were so baggy that his pocket was as twisted up as a shopping bag in a windstorm. And what was worse was that the harder he rustled around in there, the more his pants started to slip from his hips.

“Come on… What in the hay is the deal here..?”

It took some doing, but eventually he managed to get his keys and unlock the door; albeit, he had to tug up his belt a few times in the process, replacing his prior anger with annoyance.

“Hrmph,” Ben grumbled, stripping off his uniform and chucking it across his bed in a crumpled mess. “All that work for nothing. Just a little appreciation, is that so much to ask?”

He gave the uniform one last sour look before sitting on the bed to sulk. There was so much he was looking forward to and Bogo just had to go and ruin it all like the big killjoy that he was.

‘Well nuts to him,’ Ben thought, glowering.

Who needs him, or his praise?

Who needs the ZPD, for that matter?

It wasn’t like he was the only officer out of shape there; what with all the hippos, rhinos and elephants who got to throw their weight around and had way more respect than he ever did. They never lifted a finger to improve themselves and it was Clawhauser who gets called impatient? Him?

“Nuts to them!”

He could do so much better now. He was fit. He was trim. And he’s always had a sparkling personality and charm to boot. The world was his oyster now!

“Yeah…”

Forget the ZPD. He could do anything he wanted. He could be a model. An actor. An all-around big cat superstar!

“Yeah!” Ben hopped off his bed; his eyes twinkling with excitement as he rushed over to his standing mirror. “Look out world, here I- HOLY FUDGE!!”

If the mammal in the mirror looked like an old familiar friend this morning, what he saw now was anything but recognizable.

Saying that his face looked tired was an understatement. Wrinkles and creases formed around his brow, carving branching streams of sagging flesh around his eyes. His jowls hung limply over his mouth in thin, wispy flaps, while the edges of his cheekbones jutted out like the corners of a table draped in cloth.

Earlier that day he was happy to feel his ribs, but now he could plainly look at them as the cage of bone pushed against his spotted hide with each panicked breath. The stomach below was so sunken inwards that it was practically concave, making the rest of his boney upper-body look like it was teetering unevenly on top of his angular hips.

“Oooh, no no no…” Clawhauser mewled; leaning in to take a closer look at his weathered face. Even as he was still processing what was happening to him, the dark circles under his eyes grew ever deeper.

He took too much.

He took too much too much.

“Gotta fix this… Gotta fix this…”

Tearing away from the gaunt creature in the mirror, Ben dove into his closet and madly hunted through it for something to wear - anything to wear - and came up with a plain tank top and a pair of pull-string shorts that hung off his lanky body just enough to keep him decent in public.

But looks weren’t important right now. He was already sinking below the benchmark of personal appearance as each second ticked by, leaving him with precious little time to get to Sahara Square.

Sparing one more look in the mirror, he gulped at the bumpy ridge of his backbone as it poked out from under his shirt.

He needed to see Romana.

And fast.

 

* * *

 

Not wanting to risk any issues on the subway, Ben summoned the closest Zuber available and promised the driver a ridiculously generous tip if he’d take all the risks necessary to get him to the bazaar as soon as possible.

But even as his overly limber body was tossed from side to side while the yak behind the wheel zigzagged through every side street in the city, his mind wouldn’t stray from the predicament he was in.

How was he supposed to know this stuff would go haywire like that?

Sure, she told him one scoop a day, but if the side-effects were as serious as this, she should have said so. It’s only common sense to at least put some kind of warning label on it; like how you’re not supposed to mix alcohol and medication.

If anything, this was her fault.

But it wasn’t just hers, was it?

No. Just like he realized earlier, Bogo had always been putting this pressure on him; never giving him any slack. He practically pushed Ben into screwing up this one simple instruction, just so he could try and fail at making the chief proud of him.

Just once. That’s all he wanted.

“Just once…”

Just once a day. That’s what she told him. And if he had only stuck to it he wouldn’t have ended up like this, wasting away in the back of a stinky sedan.

It almost made him want to tuck his head between his wiry legs and cry.

 

* * *

 

The second they arrived at the bazaar’s entrance he stumbled out of the car as quickly as he could. With all the fat gone from his body, the muscles of his legs were beginning to wilt away; making each step he took a labor in itself.

On the upside, navigating his way through the crowd of shoppers wasn’t as difficult as before. Although, it was because those who took notice of him would hurriedly step aside, wearing looks of fear on their faces, as if he had something they might catch.

“Seven… Eight… Nine…”

The numbered stalls passed his eyes like a dizzied blur of cheap wares and amateurish placards as he lurched onward through the marketplace, clumsily dragging his body forward like a drunk after an all-night bender.

“Fourteen… Where is it..? Where…”

Suddenly the familiar sight of exotic drapery passed into his peripheral and his shambling stopped to a tottering halt.

Stall number fourteen.

“Oh thank glamorous God,” Ben exclaimed, letting his narrow arms drop pendulously by his sides.

He was in the clear. Now all that was left was to explain the mix-up to Romana and get her to fix it. Even if he had to pay double - triple - what the original miracle cost, he would give anything to undo it.

His shrunken, veiny paw twitched and trembled as he reached out for the curtain and threw it open, expecting to be hit with that mysterious fragrance of musky herbs.

But what he was instead greeted with was far from expectations.

“Hey there, how’re you doing?”

The ancient pots and jars were all gone. The woven silks were stripped away from the walls and surfaces. The dim candlelight was replaced with bright, shiny lightbulbs.

And that smell, the intoxicating aroma of intrigue, was washed away with a dead, chemical smell of faded ammonia.

This wasn’t a place of miracles.

It was a used appliance store.

“Can I… Help you with anything?” asked the pig working behind the counter as he peered suspiciously at Clawhauser.

Still looking around the place in a disbelieving stupor, Clawhauser muttered aloud “Romana…”

“Who?”

“Uh, Ro-- T-the, ah, other shop that was here- What- Uhh… What happened?”

“The flim-flam store?” The pig rolled his eyes and gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Turns out magic beans don’t pay the rent. The property manager kicked her out a couple days ago and I just moved in.”

“Nooo…” Ben moaned, tugging at his whiskers. “No no no…”

“But hey, while you’re here, maybe I can interest you in a pre-owned toaster. I got a lot in stock, so they’re going cheap. How about it, mac? …Mac?”

Clawhauser was already back out in the bazaar’s corridor, frantically looking left and right for some sort of solution - a way out of this - as if he could possibly hope to see the enigmatic jackal waiting for him somewhere in the distance, remedy in paw.

“What to do… What to do~oo…”

An aching pain crept over his body as he felt his muscles stiffen even further. Long trenches took shape across his forearms, marking the shallow gap between the bones. He was still losing weight. Time was running out.

“I need more time… I need…”

He needed more weight.

“N-nineteen!”

Hobbling further down the rows of shops, he staggered into another plain, sterile outlet that was densely stocked with various plastic drums of clinically marked products; stacked from the floor to the ceiling in uninspired pyramids.

It was exactly like the sort of places that Bogo frequented, right down to the blue polo and biking shorts worn by the clean-cut lion manning the register.

“Welcome to ValuHealth, are you- Whoah, are you okay, buddy?”

“Weight gain powder,” Clawhauser wheezingly demanded, ignoring the lion’s concerns.

“S-sure thing…” Cautiously, he took a white and blue container from one of the pyramids and placed it in front of Ben. “That’ll be--”

Clawhauser slapped his credit card down on the counter and immediately clutched the container to his emaciated chest and ripped the lid off after a moment’s struggle, shooting a puff of dust up in his weathered face.

The lion watched in disquieted confusion while Ben shoveled pawful after pawful of the off-grey powder into his open mouth, only pausing to cough up gusts of dry dust.

It tasted horrible. Bittersweet and yet overwhelmingly chalky at the same time. It was like they had ground up a supply of hundred year old Necco Wafers and threw some mothballs into the mix.

Barely halfway through the drum, Clawhauser dropped it to the floor, gagging as the mixture thickened and stuck to the inner-linings of his throat.

It wasn’t working. He could see it even as he futilely tried to brush the powder from out of his fur; beneath his hair, veins were protruding - visibly throbbing - while his arteries gasped for space to flow between his dwindling hide and tissue.

The powder wasn’t enough. He needed something else. Something more reliable.

Snatching his card and receipt from out of the lion’s paw, Ben rushed out of the shop, knocking over a tower of vitamin pills as he blundered his way towards the one last thing in the world that he could rely on.

 

* * *

 

Artie was just stocking a fresh batch of apple fritters when he heard the jingle of the door opening, so the otter fixed the paper hat on top of his head, straightened his apron and turned to happily greet his customer.

“Welcome to The Big Donut, how can I he- EEEUUGHH!!”

Hunched heavily over the counter, scaring the living daylights out of him, was a skeleton of a feline that loomed overhead with a strange, grey dust wafting from his fur, making him look like some sort of dried up wraith.

“I need donuts!” A cloud of dust escaped from its jagged jaw as its bulging, bloodshot eyes gazed down from the deep pits of its tightly bound skull.

“A-a d-dozen?” Artie squeaked, timidly grabbing a pink box from below the counter. “W-what kind--”

“Any~y,” the cheetah rasped in reply, hungrily dragging its gnarled paw down the glass display case.

Without hesitation, Artie threw together a quick assortment of donuts into the box, anxiously glancing back at the cheetah every few seconds, making sure he was still standing on his side of the counter.

“H-here you g-go,” he said, placing the open box on the counter. “That’s--”

Before he could close the box or finish ringing him up, the cheetah scooped it up and carelessly tossed down a credit card. He didn’t even wait for the charge to clear; almost half of the box was already being hastily crammed into its salivating mouth.

Crullers. Fritters. Custard creams. Powdered jellies. Everything the cheetah could hold at once was forced past his gums and was choked down like a duck binge-eating on bread.

In no time at all, the box was emptied and tossed aside while the cheetah clumsily rubbed away the debris of crumbs and chocolate fondant from his jowls with the back of his bony wrist.

“More.”

“M-more?” The color drained from Artie’s fur. “H-how m-much more..?”

“ALL OF IT!!” Bits of moist cake flew from its mouth as the cheetah shouted in a gargling roar; its throat still clogged with cream and jelly.

So terribly confused and concerned for his own well-being, Artie forgoed any effort at boxing the new order and simply started pulling entire trays from the display case, stacking them on top of each other as the cheetah ravenously nodded for him to keep going.

A quarter of the case was cleared out before the cheetah grabbed an armload of the trays and stalked over a nearby booth, where he dropped the payload in one big messy clatter, wearily sat himself down by the table, and proceeded to engorge on the destructive feast.

At first, Artie was transfixed, having never witnessed anything as disgustingly absurd as this ghoulish cheetah endlessly stuffing donut after donut into his ever consuming gullet. But soon fascination and bewilderment gave way to rationality and he fled from the counter to grab the phone by the manager’s office.

“H-hello, Nine-one-one? Yeah, uh, I’m at The Big Donut in Sahara… No, no. Not that one. The one across the street from the other one. …Yeah, listen, I think we have a problem here. There’s, ah- Well, I think this guy might be on something and--”

Suddenly a loud bang came from the dining area, causing Artie to leap in the air; dropping the phone in his surprise.

Aside from the faint voice of the operator asking if he was still there, the entire shop was deathly silent. The obscene eating noises of his unearthly guest had stopped.

“H-hello,” Artie called out while he cautiously crept around the counter, “S-sir..?”

But there was no answer.

Among a scattered jumble of crushed and mangled donuts, the cheetah’s rigid body lay slumped over the table; its arm still outstretched, clutching a half-eaten vanilla dip.

Gradually getting a closer look, Artie choked up with horror at the grim visage. Its mouth still hung open, stuffed to the brim with unswallowed cake that tumbled out his thin, black, leathery lips like dressing spilling from a cooked turkey. Its cold, dead eyes swelled from its skull and rolled back, exposing only the whites; tainted with streaks of burst blood vessels.

But there was one thing that he would always carry in his memories and only tell to others in a hushed, superstitious tone.

And that was that while the cheetah laid there, lifeless and unbreathing, he could swear that when he looked close enough - long enough- he could see, little by little, that the body was shrinking.

Thinner and thinner.


End file.
